


Do not call me a Lady, for I am a Lord.

by God_Help_Me



Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Childhood Trauma, F/M, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Slurs, Trans Character, Trans Dallas Winston, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, Trauma, domestic abuse, spousal abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:14:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27339253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/God_Help_Me/pseuds/God_Help_Me
Summary: Dallas Winston had to struggle all his life. He had to struggle for food, for money, for clothes, for freedom; he had to fight to live.He had to fight for his name, as well, and he'll be dead before anyone can take it away from him.
Relationships: Darrel Curtis & Dallas Winston, Everyone & Everyone, Johnny Cade & Dallas Winston, Ponyboy Curtis & Dallas Winston, Sodapop Curtis & Dallas Winston, Sylvia/Dallas Winston, Tim Shepard/Dallas Winston
Comments: 3
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

_“Why do you want to cut your hair?”_ His father had asked, _“It’s so pretty, you look just like your mother did when she was your age, you’ll make a dashing young woman one day.”_ He didn’t like that, being called a woman. He wanted to be a man.

* * *

_“Hannah Winston! What did you do?”_ He stood in the bathroom, clumps of curly hair laid on the floor around his feet. He swallowed, the shriek bringing his father over from the bedroom. His father grabbed him from the arm, ignoring his protests of pain as he was dragged from the bathroom.

He closed his eyes as he was thrown against the wall, a rough hand grabbing the short hair that curled around his cheeks. _“Why’d you do this Hannah, you don’t look half as pretty now.”_ He never liked when his father did this, never liked when he used him like he did his mother.

He didn’t like being told he was a woman. He was a man.

* * *

There was yelling, he watched as his mother was thrown against the wall, knocking a burning log from the fireplace. The yelling got louder, the sparks spreading across the woolen carpet. He was mesmerized by it, watching the old thing burst into hues of orange and yellow and red.

He walked back, feeling for the knob of the front door. His mother collapsed onto the ground, eyes closed. HIs breath caught as his father turned his attention towards him; he threw open the door, running into the night as the sirens drew closer.

* * *

He was pulled into the hospital, getting attention from walking around the block covered in soot, lost in his own world as the doctors examined him. His attention was brought back by a doctor shaking him, asking him for a name.

He hesitated, blinking at him, _“Dallas,” he said,_ “My name is Dallas.” He didn’t talk to them after that, they wouldn’t find his birth certificate, it was lost in the fire. All of theirs were, he had made sure of it.

* * *

New York had never been kind to him when he lived in that shitty one bedroom apartment with his folks, but it was worse now. He had no home to go to, refusing to go back to his parents; his mother had survived, so had his father.  
He wished they didn’t.

He stole things, mainly things he needed; food, water, clothes, blankets, and bandages. When he got lucky, he stole T, relishing in the new-found deepness of his voice. He was still pitchy, he still had a higher voice than most of the boys in his hang. But he didn’t care, Dallas Winston was feared in the streets, now.

* * *

Dallas didn’t like going to jail, didn’t like getting caught. Because there, he couldn’t be protected by the over-sized leather jacket, couldn’t be comforted by the tight bandages wrapped around his torso.

Eventually, word got out about him.

Eventually, his gang ditched him, telling him that he was nothing more than a _“Slut who likes to pretend to be a man.”_ , or _"A no-good Tranny"_ He didn’t like them anymore, he didn’t like Manhattan anymore. 

So he left.

* * *

Tursa was boring. It didn’t have the constant fear that came from being on the run, it didn’t have the contant threat of being killed in his sleep, it didn’t have the threat of his parents finding him. He liked it.

He had run into a boy in the street, _“Tim Shepard.”_ Was his name, he liked him.

He had run into a woman in the store, _“Lilly Curtis, a pleasure to meet you young man.”_ She had told him, he liked her.

She introduced him to her sons, Ponyboy, Sodapop, and Darry. He liked Darry the most.

Darry had introduced him to the other greasers, he liked Johnny.

They had asked him questions, where was he from? Why was he so skinny? Why was he beat up? How old was he? He didn’t answer most of them, almost avoiding telling them his age as well - deciding against the lie he had told others in the past _“Old enough to work.”_

__

Dally’s voice was deeper, it wasn’t as masculine as Darry’s or Sodapop’s, but he liked it. 

Dally was taller, he stood a few inches taller than Ponyboy, even more so with his heeled boots on. 

Dally was feared, he was the toughest hood in town, only matched by Shepard. He was okay with that, he liked Shepard. 

* * *

He met a girl at Buck’s place, she had sat in his lap, grinding on the hardness that wasn’t there. She didn’t notice. He was glad. _“Sylvia”_ She had told him, dragging him up the stairs in a drunken haze. 

He helped her, she passed out afterwards, he was okay with that. Dally thought she was pretty, but he didn’t like her. He didn’t like most of the girls he helped, but they were pretty. 

* * *

Johnny was cute, but younger. 

Sylvia was pretty, but older. 

Shepard was stunning, but older. 

But none of them seemed to like Dally the same way he did them. 

* * *

It was his birthday, he didn’t tell anyone, not finding it important. 

And it wasn’t, no one cared to ask, so he didn’t tell. 

There was word on the block that there was a new couple moving in from New York, Dally wondered if he knew them. 

He did. 

He never liked his birthday, it was never nice. 

Why would this be different? 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hated winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Mentions of violence, blood, and use of slurs

The snow shone brightly as the morning Sun danced atop it, only disturbed by the light footfalls as he made his way across the town. He hated the winter, hated the snow, it was always unpleasant; made him feel worse than usual when that time of the month came around again.  
The sun was barely out of the sky, not too many people were out on the streets, those that were scattered when they met eyes. Much to his relief, the store was open, he didn’t think he could steal more than one or two pads from Mrs. Curtis before she noticed. 

The door chimed lightly as he walked in, the cashier didn’t look up as he entered, that was fine with him, would make it easier to steal what he needed. He strolled down the isles, making sure to pick up a bottle of water and some aspirin on his way. Dally checked over his shoulder, making sure no one was watching as he grabbed the box. He put the pills in his pocket, making his way back up front. 

“What, you shoppin’ for your motha’ or something?” He sighed, the cashier was in the mood to chat. “Piss off.” He grabbed his items, stuffing them in his bag. He shivered as he walked out, a gust of cold wind hitting him as he began the trudge back to the Curtis’ place, taking back allies in hopes of avoiding socs’. 

He got half-way before a car pulled up behind him, “Greaser!” One of them yelled at him, Dally sped up, not in the mood to deal with rich fucks this early in the morning. The car pulled to a stop in front of him, four guys piled out, all of them bigger than him; reputation ain’t gonna do much to save him now.

One of them sped at him, throwing punch after punch. He tried to dodge, throwing a few punches himself before someone tackled him to the ground. Dally thrashed, throwing his assailant off of him before the others could come. He startled as two hands grabbed at his wrists, dragging him to an alley wall as he kicked at the obnoxious shoes in front of him. He got thrown onto the bricks, hands pinned above him as a knife was held at his throat. 

The soc pinning him had a vicious grin, breath tasting of overpriced booze. He started talking as his friends came into the alley, Dallas feeling a sense of pride when he saw the bloody gashes on two of the socs’. He turned his attention back to the one pinning him, he had pretty eyes, he’d give him that, he’d avoid face hits then.

The pretty-boy was toying with his knife, as though Dally wasn’t worth his time. He grew tired of waiting for the soc to attempt anything else, bringing his knee up to meet the leather padded chest. Pretty-boy fell to the ground, knife clattering away from him, Dally stomped on his hand as more hands pulled at him.

He spun around, yanking his arms out of their grips and made a run for it. He could hear their footsteps getting farther away as he threw bags of trash behind him. He slowed to a halt as he neared the familiar street, checking himself to see if his pads and aspirin were still there, nestled in with the water.

As he entered the house he was bombarded with talking, making his way to the kitchen counter.

“Good morning, Dallas.” He nodded at Mr. Curtis, too tired to do anything else. “You alright? You seem pretty tired.” Dally closed his eyes, resting his chin on his folded arms.

“Just peachy.” He muttered, not opening his eyes until the noise around him became too unbearable. He pushed himself up, stretching as he stood to grab the bag he discarded on the floor.

“Golly Dal, what happened to your neck?” He looked over to Steve, question on his lips as he touched a hand to it; it felt sticky, 

“Ran into some socs’ earlier, the pretty one musta’ let the knife slip.” He toyed with the hair on his nape before letting his hand fall to his ribs, he really needs to stop binding so tight when he goes out, he’ll end up busting a rib in a fight.

Mrs. Curtis set a plate down in front of him, “Well young man, we can’t have you bleeding out on us, the stains will take forever to get out.” Dally felt his lips quirk up, “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” He let her lead him into the bathroom, closing and locking the door as he stepped in.

She went through the medicine cabinet, getting out some rubbing alcohol and gauze. She worked in moderate sillence, only stopping to click her tongue as she dabbed at the dried blood. “Take off your shirt.” Dally blinked up at her before shaking his head, getting up to leave.

“Nope, thanks for the help though.” He made to unlock the door, only to be stopped by Mrs. Curtis’ hand on his chest.

“You ain’t gonna try that with me, I saw you holding your ribs earlier, sit back down and let me look at them.” He shook his head again, backing up a bit.

“Listen lady, I ain’t takin’ my shirt off for no good reason.” He tried to keep the panic from his voice, taking a few steps back, accidentally knocking his bag over. The box fell to the ground, grabbing Mrs. Curtis’ attention.

“Why do you have maxi-pads, Dally?” It was a question he didn’t want to answer, the gang knew that he didn’t have a home, so he couldn’t use the excuse of a mother or sister, and he and Sylvia were on another one of their breaks. Dallas felt his breath halt, tears pricking at the back of his eyes as he watched Mrs. Curtis piece it together, her mouth forming into an ‘o.’

She sighed, “Well, I’m still gonna need you to take your shirt off, Dal. Might as well redo your binding for ya’”

He didn’t say anything, just watching in amazement as she treated him as though he _wasn’t_ a tranny. She glanced up at him, meeting his eyes before straightening, tossing him his shirt. “You’re still a boy, y’know. Just cause’ you can have children don’t make you any less of a man.”

He watched her leave, a small smile spreading on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooooo happy birthday to Dallas


	3. Chapter 3

Never learning how to swim came with a lot of downsides, like not knowing how to swim.

He didn't know what happened, he was walking to someone's place, maybe it was Buck's? Dally didn't know anymore, didn't care to much either. Some soc's came around, one of them looked like the pretty boy from a few days ago, but there were a lot more than he could handle alone. Soc's fought dirtier than he did, the fucks.

They ended up throwing him in a river and just leaving like he wasn't worth their time, he'd be offended if it wasn't for the fact that he couldn't swim and he's pretty sure he busted a few ribs during the exchange. 

Jesus fuck the water was cold, it felt like it was biting at him. Dally's lungs burned, begging him to open his mouth and get some air but he , he desperately kicked, towards the surface, breaking the water for a brief second before sinking back down. He inhaled some water and that stung like a bitch.

He swam as best he could to wear the shore was, slow and hesitant. His vision got spotty and he desperately urged his body to move faster. Dallas felt his hands meet dirt and he pulled himself up, flopping onto the shore as coughs racked his body.

The blonde lay there, panting as he brought a hand to his chest. Everything hurt and he just wanted to sleep.

Sooner than he had hoped the cold finally got to him, a harsh caress reminding him that he needed to move to somewhere safer. Standing wasn't fun, neither was walking, every step paining him as he made his way through the streets.

Shivers began to wrack his frame ages ago, water freezing to his body as he stumbled through the snow. His chest ached something, an unwelcome distraction from the winter air.

He didn't know how long he walked, coming to a stop near a familiar neighborhood he felt he should recognize. Dallas was tired, sinking down to the ground, curling up and resting his forhead on his knees.

Was this how he was gonna die? Alone and cold?

He felt his mind begin to drift as he begged himself not to cry

* * *

"Winston?" He jerked up, stifling a yelp as blinked at Tim. "What're you doin' here, this ain't exactly your terf." Dallas stared, unable to form any words. "Are, are ya' hurt or somethin? 'Cause I can bring you to Curtis'" He was still shaking, arms clutching onto the frozen jacket that covered him as he nodded. Tim glanced down at him, offering a hand that he pretended he didn't take.

"Golly, you look freezin'" Tim kept pace with Dallas, hand pushing off the jacket and replacing it with his own. "Did ya' fall into a river?" Dallas nodded, the shivers wracking his body calming a bit.

"I think I busted a rib," he winced at the sound of it voice, almost drowning did wonders for the throat "A buncha' socs got the drop on me, they fought dirtier than me." Tim hummed, throwing an arm around the shorters' shoulders.

"Well, I don't feel like dealin with ya' right now, so I'm gonna leave you at the Curtis' place." Dallas snorted, fighting the urge to lean into Tim.

"Good, cause I don't wanna deal with ur' cocky ass either." They came to a stop in front of the run-down house, Dally moving to take off the jacket Tim gave him.

"No, keep it, it's gettin' to small for me anyway, perfect for a shor bastard like you." Dallas rolled his eyes, not wanting to get into fight right now. He shoved off Tim's arm, walking up the steps in as straight a line as possible. "Oh, and have fun dealin the Mister and Misses!"

Dallas felt his breath halt, Mrs. Curtis was gonna be pissed.

**Author's Note:**

> tiMe for a c o m f o r t character to project my feelings onttoooooooo


End file.
